The Shape of Bronze

Dove Williams was in the museum, cleaning and enjoying every minute of it. She was by nature an industrious young woman who was happiest when she had chores to do. Although her talents were wasted on what many considered a dead end job, Dove counted herself fortunate to have been employed at all. Social phobia was the bane of her life.

As she vacuumed the carpeted staircase and dusted here and there, Dove grew increasingly angry with her mum for burdening her with a first name such as hers. She'd always hated it, though whenever the subject was brought up, her mum would simply smile and gush over how much the name suited her.

"Because you're my sweet little dove, gentle as an angel." She would say. "All little girls should be sweet as doves." Her words were as hopelessly outdated and sexist as a Carry On film. "Though you're such a quiet one, I should've named you Mouse instead." While her mum may have meant well, she just didn't understand what it was like to be neurodivergent.

"Why couldn't I have been a Chloe, Alice or Grace?" School had been a nightmare. The bullying had been relentless, all through her teen years. She was twenty-one now, but the scars of being bullied remained.

In one of the rooms that were closed off to the public, a large bronze statue lay on its back, currently in the process of being cleaned and restored.

She stopped dusting, put down her cloth and walked over to the statue, as though it were exerting some sort of hold over her. She'd never seen it before. It was a statue of an 18th century man, at first glance. A young man. He looked quite handsome and was dressed in the standard clothing of that era - knee-length breeches, frilly necktie, buckled shoes and a long, curled wig. Dove looked carefully at the statue's face, which bore such an expression of sadness and loss, she wondered if it were a monument to depression.

She ran her hand slowly down the statue's cold, bronze face. Suddenly it trembled, and she withdrew her hand. Was the stand it was on unstable? It seemed unlikely. It was securely held on the thick wooden base. What could have caused it to move? There had to be a gap somewhere, it was the only explanation.

"Why are you so sad?" Dove whispered, touching the statue's face again.

The door opened an a member of staff walked in, causing Dove to recoil in fright.

"Oh hello there. Didn't mean to make you jump," the older woman said. "I've been working late. Just leaving now."

"I was...just looking," Dove said, feeling her cheeks reddening, as always happened when someone spoke to her.

"Look all you want. He's not going anywhere! Not yet at least. He's been cleaned up. The council need to get his plinth in the town centre fixed up, then he can be returned to it. Just in time for the coronation."

"Who...is he?" Dove asked, timidly.

The older woman came over. "Henry Bracewell. A local historic figure. You've never heard of him?"

"N-no, I'm not from round here."

"Ah. Well he's been dead a long time. Since 1750. The Victorians, in their great wisdom, felt the need to erect a statue of him, a hundred years after he died."

Though the staff member's smug, patronising tone irritated her no end, Dove didn't rise to it. "Why does he look so sad?"

"You'd be sad if you'd died of TB at thirty! I must be off. I assume you're familiar with setting the alarm and locking up?"

Dove felt like making a sarcastic reply, but chose not to. She'd been working here four months now, and had no problems with securing the place after she'd finished. "Yes."

The staff member left, and Dove was left alone. She breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, she was able to relax. No-one to judge her. It was only a small museum, so one cleaner sufficed.

Dove resumed cleaning the room, however she couldn't shake off the overwhelming feeling that she wasn't alone and was being watched. She switched off the vacuum cleaner and glanced round at the statue of Henry Bracewell. There was definitely something weird about that statue. With the room spick and span once more, she unplugged the machine and wound up the power cord. As she prepared to leave, Dove thought she heard someone calling her name.

"Dove..."

She froze, but the room was deserted, as was the rest of the museum. She always locked herself in when she was alone, which was a sensible precaution in this day and age.

Figuring she'd imagined it, she switched off the light.

"Don't leave me..."

Dove switched the light back on. Silence. A minute passed. She walked over to Henry's statue again and stared at it. For a moment, she thought she could see tears welling up in the statue's lifeless eyes.

Don't be ridiculous, she told herself. She checked her smartphone. It was 7pm. She'd have to hurry, or she'd miss her bus home.

"I'll see you tomorrow Henry," Dove smiled, and seeing as she was alone, she bent down and placed a little kiss on the statue's cold face, before hurrying out of the room and switching the light off.

Alone and in the darkness, the statue of Henry Bracewell trembled again. Nobody saw the blush spread across his face, and the smile form from his previously sad mouth...

When Dove returned home, her mum was on the phone, engaged in a deep conversation, unaware her daughter had come in.

"Oh Dove's fine. Yes, still cleaning at the museum. I must say, I hope she'll find a better job soon. I mean, she is absolutely wasted there. Ten A grade GCSEs, three A Levels! She's smart. But she's cleaning toilets! I just don't understand her. There was a perfectly good full-time job going at Primark, but she said she can't cope with a customer-facing role. Good money too. I wish she'd open up a bit, she's far too turned in. No friends, never had a boyfriend. Didn't want to go to uni. How is she ever going to meet people? Now that the pandemic's over, she should try and join some clubs or something. When I was her age, I couldn't wait to get out and see more of the world. I used to love it when I worked at Woolworths, chatting to everyone!"

Dove frowned. "Mum thinks I'm a failure." She eavesdropped some more.

"Anyways, I've tried coaxing her, but she isn't a person who likes to be pushed. She says she's happy, but I'll keep trying. I just don't want her wasting her life and getting left behind. She's so shy."

Later, Dove looked up Henry Bracewell online. There wasn't a lot of information, but he had a brief Wikipedia entry. It stated that he was born 1st May 1720, and died on that same date, in 1750. During his short life, Henry had suffered from a lot of ill health, having survived smallpox as a child. He was bright, with an interest in classics and history. During his twenties, his health greatly improved, and he'd become a medical student. Henry had a great empathy for the poor and crippled, and worked with blind soldiers.

"He died on his birthday." Dove said. She continued to read.

"A naturally shy man, Henry had an eye for the ladies, but was often too bashful to court anyone."

"Relatable!" Dove said out loud. "I feel like I have more in common with this long-dead man than most people in the modern world."

In 1749, Henry fell in love with a young woman whom he proposed marriage to. She accepted, but by then, he was already falling ill with tuberculosis. He died four months later, before he was able to marry. Henry was buried in the local churchyard of the town of his birth. He left a vast amount of money to the hospital he worked at."

"So sad. No wonder his statue was sculpted with such a miserable expression."

Dove's sleep had been troubled lately. Sometimes you just couldn't turn your mind off. After a couple hours of tossing and turning, she finally managed to drift off. She didn't dream often, but tonight was different...

Henry Bracewell was in the bed with her. Not in statue form this time, but a real person. How he got there, she didn't know, nor did she care. Only that his skin was soft, smooth, and crying out to be touched. She wasn't nervous or awkward this time. With him, she felt a confidence that always eluded her waking life.

Dove began to caress his toned chest while he put his arm around her and nestled her onto his shoulder. Softly he kissed her while she began rubbing his stomach and chest in small circles slowly making her way down to his breeches. His breath caught as she found what she was seeking. She need not have worried, as his arousal was evident at the first touch.

Tenderly she gripped him causing him to shake slightly. He turned to her and started to say something, but she looked him directly in the eyes and put a finger to his lips. Slowly, while looking up at him, she began to descend down his body. Shuddering, he moaned...

"I need you."

In her sleep Dove tossed and turned, as she dreamt of Henry making love to her.

"I'm at the museum."

She continued to hear his whispering voice even after she'd woken up.

"Touch me again tonight."

***

Dove was eager to get to work, but caught the earlier bus than usual, in order to visit the churchyard. In her hand was a small bouquet.

As a child, Dove had preferred night to day, had enjoyed sitting out in the yard after sunset, under the star-speckled sky. Darkness soothed. It softened the sharp edges of the world, edges that often proved too much of a sensory overload for her. The churchyard was peaceful, however, with a deep and earthy smell of freshly mown grass.

Henry's grave was in the corner, under two large oak trees. It was overgrown and long neglected. She was sad to see it. Given that his statue was being restored, why not his grave too? Carefully, Dove placed the bouquet on the grave. No cars were on the street, and not another person was in sight. The town was unusually quiet for a weekday. All at once, the day became overcast, rainclouds thick in the sky above. The air was cool around her, and the darkened sky had a bruised look about it.

When it did start to rain it began with just a few thick drops that smacked against Dove's face and arms. Within a minute she could hear the downpour begin in earnest, but the canopy of trees above protected her from most of the fall. The new noise of the rain drumming on the foliage above and around seemed to enhance her already finely-tuned senses. When she made it to the museum, the heavens had fully opened.

Two members of staff were engaged in idle conversation as Dove made her way to the cleaning cupboard. Neither paid any attention to her.

"So I decided to get an electric car. It's taken me ages to make my mind up."

"Whoo, you go girl!"

As a cleaner, you got used to being ignored. Cleaners weren't people you'd notice. The two women left the building, leaving Dove alone. She locked the doors, and began her evening work. She worked from 5 until 7. Usually she'd start by vacuuming the entrance hall first, then starting on the toilets. Tonight however, there was only one thing on her mind. The statue.

The statue of Henry Bracewell was still lying on his back on the wooden stand, and he looked shinier than last night. The museum's restoration team must've been hard at work polishing him. The curls of his periwig looked particularly impressive. Dove thought back to the dream she'd had last night. Coincidence, or something more? The statue still looked sad, but his face wasn't quite as miserable as yesterday. How was that possible? She touched his face. Warm skin against cold bronze.

The statue trembled again. Dove withdrew her hand and turned away, but another hand grabbed hers. She let out a gasp. It was Henry Bracewell's hand. This statue was alive!

Dove opened her mouth to scream, but found herself unable to make a sound.

"Don't be afraid."

She was more than afraid. This was a statue that could move by itself and talk! She wanted to turn and run out of the room, but Henry's statue reached up to touch her face with his other hand.

"I won't hurt you, Dove. Please don't leave me again."

With a wildly beating heart, Dove managed to force some words out. "I-I won't. I promise. How do you know my name?"

Henry's face relaxed into a smile and he blinked, as though he were made of real flesh, not solid bronze. "I knew from the moment I arrived at this place. Yours is a beautiful name. Gossamer light and bittersweet. Like dawn mist rising over a lake."

"Well, I've always hated it."

The statue's face radiated sadness again. "Oh. Forgive me. I didn't mean to offend."

"It's alright. That was a lovely thing to say." All of a sudden, talking to a statue seemed the most natural thing in the world.

"Would you mind if I bared my soul? If I came right out and said that you are beautiful? It was so kind of you to leave those flowers on my grave."

Her reaction made it clear to him that she wasn't used to being complimented by a man.

"I'm so sorry, that was ungentlemanly of me," Henry mumbled, blushing. "I always seem to end up saying the wrong thing..."

Dove didn't bother to question how a statue could possibly blush or be alive, but instead bent down and planted a kiss on his lips.

She caught her breath as his lips closed over hers, and she almost pulled away, not so much out of fear, but for the fact that he was, of all things, a statue. And yet, she found herself unable to resist, and she melted against him, kissing him back hesitantly at first, but growing more passionate as she realised just how right it felt to have their lips pressed together in that intoxicating and heated moment of affection. He moaned deep in the back of his throat, creating a gentle vibration against her mouth, and she snaked her arms about his metal body.

"I can't move my legs. My feet are welded to a metal plate," the statue said. "The plate fixes to my plinth.

"It's alright, Henry. Maybe it would be easier if I..." Dove straddled him. This time she kissed him back boldly, and without hesitation. He lay back on the stand, pulling her down on top of him, throwing into sharp contrast how much smaller she really was than him. His hands encircled her tiny waist, their lips locked together in a passionate embrace.

Dove felt as though the spark that had ignited within her at their first kiss had been fanned into an ill-controlled flame, and the fire threatened to consume her, yet still she kissed him, spurred on by his deep moans of pleasure as she slipped her tongue between his teeth to explore his mouth. She felt a hardness pressing against her thigh...

Henry was embarrassed and more than a little nervous. "Dove," he whispered. "I fear I may be being ungentlemanly again. Forgive this...reaction."

For the first time in her life, Dove felt blessed with a confidence she'd always yearned for.

"I'll help you," she whispered back. She paused for a moment, before unfastening the sculpted buttons on his breeches. It suddenly dawned on her why he was so nervous.

"Henry...is this your first time?"

"Yes."

"Mine too."

She hiked up the hem of the drab dress she was wearing, slid her panties aside and moved her hips so that she was situated kneeling above him, ready to receive him, and then she lowered herself slowly onto his bronze shaft. It felt cold at first, but Henry's arms wrapped around her as he slowly pulled his cock out and then slowly thrust back into her.

The statue's eyes clenched shut and his jaw slackened, expelling a lustful groan of delight as Dove pushed him further inside her. He arched his back and pressed his hips into hers, his fingers clutching desperately at her sides and his entire body trembling. Dove too, realised that she was shaking, but she moved carefully, pleasantly surprised that all of his cock fit inside her.

She had never felt more aware of her own body, of the minute sensations that coursed through her veins like an electrical pulse each time he thrusted. "Oh God," she whispered, her voice rising to a powerful cry as she felt herself approaching her peak. "Oh...yes!" Her orgasm burst forth like a tidal wave crashing over her and she screamed wildly in euphoria. Moments later, Henry groaned as he came, and Dove felt his cum shoot into her depths in hot spurts.

"My beautiful Dove. It was worth waiting 272 years to experience such pleasure."

She snuggled up beside him in the crook of his big arm, resting her head delicately against his shoulder.

The statue of Henry Bracewell was returned to his plinth the next day. Locals were pleased to see the familiar monument watching over the town centre once more, and a small crowd had gathered.

"Good to see the old boy back where he belongs," a man said. "Nice to see a statue going up instead of being pulled down."

"The museum did a terrific job of restoring him," another replied. "However I don't recall him having such a happy expression before. Did they recast his face or what? He's beaming from ear to ear."

"Never mind the smile, he didn't have that prominent bulge in his groin before, either! Good God! It's almost obscene!" An old woman remarked.

"Oh well. The pigeons have an extra perch!"